


Defy the Stars

by actmademoiselle



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Credence gets a redemption arc, F/M, Gen, Harry is also there, Jude Law as Young Dumbledore, M/M, Multi, basically a time travel fic but man do I milk my set up, he is very confused as always, i kid you not, mostly canon-compliant, pansy saves everybody? yes?, some deaths but they also happen in canon and then we go back in time so Dumbledore is still alive, this is gonna be the best thing you ever read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2019-09-02 22:57:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16796350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actmademoiselle/pseuds/actmademoiselle
Summary: Pansy Parkinson was one of the children forced to take the Mark when Voldemort got back, but she was never the type to listen to others. She threw herself into her studies and became a damn great witch by using all the loopholes in the magical rules to her advantage. And she always had a good ear for gossip, so she got her hands on the Elder Wand and killed the Dark Lord the second he became mortal.Two months later, something happens. The air grows thicker. The flames flicker. The world goes dark, only for a second, and when it comes back to life, it's 1927, and Pansy and Harry Potter are standing on the Hogwarts bridge with several men pointing wands at them. A centaur races from the forest. The stars may have a future set for them, but Pansy and Harry have had enough of following prophecies.--------------------Pansy, my child, Lucius Malfoy says, resting his hand on her shoulder. You have taken a burden away from us.At this, the Death Eaters should have started apparating away, and some do, but most of them still do not understand what is happening. They simply stand there, looking at her, as if their Dark Lord was going to stand up and proclaim this was all a test of loyalty of some sort.





	1. Chapter 1

Pansy -

She can hear Daphne Greengrass’s ragged breath behind her, as if her friend’s just run all the way from the dungeons to find her. Aside from this, silence surrounds them. Overbearing silence, some would say, Pansy muses. _Pregnant_.

A single set of footsteps is heard, but Pansy can’t break her eyes away from what she is looking at, so she has no idea who it is until they stop behind her.

Pansy, my child _,_ Lucius Malfoy says, resting his hand on her shoulder. You have taken a burden away from us.

At this, the Death Eaters should have started apparating away, and some do, but most of them still do not understand what is happening. They simply stand there, looking at her, as if their Dark Lord was going to stand up and proclaim this was all a test of loyalty of some sort.

This is not a test of loyalty. Pansy knows where their loyalty stands.

She breaks her eyes away from the figure at her feet and looks at the hooded crowd, stopping at Draco, who is rooted to the ground halfway between the castle and the Death Eaters, looking at her both mesmerized and terrified. He should wear that look more often, she muses.

Pansy, my child, Lucius Malfoy whispers loudly enough for all the Hogwarts to hear. Do as I say is a silent command he tries to enforce, to make her think he wishes to help her, but she knows him better than he is aware. She has watched the Malfoys for two years now. There is nothing they can hide from her. Lucius no longer has any power in the ranks of either the Light or the Dark world. He tries to gain it again by pretending that this, this thing that happened, was in part possible because of his effort. That he was a part of it. Of Voldemort’s fall. She admires his quick thinking.

Pansy, he says more urgently. He pulls her shoulder down. No. No, she is going to stand here and enjoy this. She looks further back, at the lack of understanding on McGonagall’s face, at the similar shock gracing all the Weasleys, at the phoenix circling above the entrance gate. They never understood this. Her. Another person is coming towards her, but now she can clearly see their face, and she’s smiling as Neville, serious as ever, determined as ever, thoroughly bloodied by that snake, is coming towards her. She knew he would never abandon her.

Lucius attempts to make himself a shield between her and Neville, but she shuffles him to the side with a movement of her hand. The crowd gasps. They’re not used to such explicit shows of wandless magic.

* * *

You have surprised me, Albus Dumbledore had said when they met in his office a month before his death. I must admit, Miss Parkinson, that it is extremely powerful magic you possess.

One can learn anything, she answered in the veiled way her mother taught her.

No, no, the headmaster chuckled. One cannot learn greatness like this. This was within you from birth. I am glad you decided to use it for good.

As he says that, Pansy raises her sleeve and shows him the Mark above her elbow. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle at her from his spectacles, and he sends her a sad smile.

A long time ago I have come to understand that the things we show to others are not always good representations of our souls, he tells her. You might wear this mark, Miss Parkinson, but I know why you do.

You cannot -

She hisses at him. He had almost made her lose her temper. You cannot begin to understand.

Miss Parkinson, Albus Dumbledore laughs at her in a grandfatherly fashion, as if she just told a very sweet joke, but there is something sinister in it. Something sinister in him.

I can assure you I do.

You are not capable of holding this school together, she says and stands up. This is another thing her mother taught her.

This is what she should have said: You cannot hold it together because you are the line that divides it. You are incapable of reaching into the souls of those haunted by the Mark not in their dreams, but on their skin.

But it would have revealed too much. The headmaster smiles at her as if he read all of it in her mind, but she knows he couldn’t have. She has become a master in Occlumency and all its subtleties.

Thank you for your hospitality, headmaster, she ends. I have just come to bring this matter to your attention.

Thank you for all your help, sincerely, Dumbledore answers seriously. Pansy thinks he is making fun of her, but the tone of his voice suggests he is speaking the truth.

But I doubt anyone else, within the school or outside it, including me, is capable of apparating within Hogwarts’s walls, Miss Parkinson. As I said, you have a lot of power within you. Take care of it, he adds.

She leaves his office unsure of what he had meant half of the time, but then again, she assumes that’s how everyone feels after talking to the Great Albus Dumbledore. She has warned him. She doesn’t care about doing more, not for him. He isn’t a powerless Muggleborn child like the ones she had secretly smuggled out of the houses that were to be attacked by Death Eaters. He isn’t like her little Slytherins, whom she’ll lock in their common room once the fighting starts, and won’t let out until hours after. He knows now. He can do whatever he chooses with that.

* * *

Neville doesn’t say her name when he stops in front of her. He reaches out; she takes his hand and collapses into his embrace. This seems to make even the thickest of Death Eaters realize what has just happened. The sound of them disapparating away reminds her of fireworks. She is stricken, for a moment, by the vague notion of deja vu. When she lets him go, Potter and his entourage are coming towards them.

The look on the boy's face might make her sick; it’s joy, as if he thinks this is some sort of miracle. The bad girl saw the Light. Voldemort’s followers realized their mistakes. This is nothing like that.

* * *

Two hours earlier Narcissa was standing over Harry Potter’s body. She spoke words, answered the Dark Lord, but Pansy was not listening. She stood nearby, at the first line of trees under her own Invisibility spell. It was really simple to modify it and she wondered why no one has used it before. Everyone knows to put notice-me -not spells on their tents or the Quidditch pitches, but she thinks it works just as well on people. Better than any invisibility cloak in fact, because there is no chance of it falling off.

The twitch in Narcissa’s body, which Pansy only recognized because she had followed her around for about a year now, revealed to her there is something she’s attempting to hide. The Dark Lord will have used Leglimency on her, of course, but Pansy had taught Narcissa the pillars of Occlumency. He will not have found what she did not want him to find, if she cared about it that badly. Pansy, on the other hand. She could not hide it from the girl if Pansy surprised her. She comes back to the line and they all walk in a procession after the Potter boy’s body, but one of Narcissa’s eyes is looking at thin air where Pansy is and the girl’s watching her history. He is alive, then. Draco. And the Potter boy.

This was good. The horcrux must have died if Potter’s pulse was gone the first time Narcissa checked it. That meant that there was only one left. She runs back, faster that this crowd headed by a crying semi-giant can walk, and she whispers to Neville what he has to do. He grabs her wrist even though she’s invisible, because they have come to know each other well this year. He knows what she’s not saying. She lets him look at where he thinks her face is, even though he’s about 5 centimeters wrong, before she pulls back. She wants to find Draco for Narcissa before the last dance.

Out of the window, far away, she sees something flying towards the castle. She can’t make it out yet, but I’ll tell you. It’s a phoenix.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks to Pansy's Other talk with Dumbledore and the night of his death, plus what happens to the Elder Wand.
> 
> Don't worry, the time travel is coming. It is coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Long time, no see. Hope you like this piece - next chapter, coming next week (gasp! am I going to actually start updating? who knows!) introducing Nicholas Flamel and his visions.

Miss Parkinson, Albus Dumbledore said.

She was sitting in his office, her hair braided perfectly, her hands in her lap. The next day Draco was opening the Cabinet for Death Eaters to infiltrate Hogwarts. It was one day before the headmaster died. She was wondering; _does he know?_

There is an urgent matter I need discuss with you, the man said with his back to her.

_Does he know?_

Have you ever heard of Horcruxes? He turned back and looked at her with his penetrating eyes, hoping to catch her off balance, but she’s never off. The pull of her tightly braided hair reminded her to keep composure at all times.

She straightened even more. She stayed silent.

They’re very Dark artifacts, he said as he moved to the end of his desk, and then towards her. I would not want any student to be accidentally exposed to them, he finished, as if that’s his only concern.

She knew what Horcruxes were, bloody hell. Of course she did. Bellatrix Lestarnge never stopped going on about how the Dark Lord had entrusted her with his most prized possession. The snake never left his side. Merlin, of course she knew what they were.

She kept an expression of neutral boredom. It worked so well to discourage men from anything.

Albus Dumbledore stood at the side of his desk and his phoenix burst into flames. He barely spared it a glance.

Oh my, I didn’t expect it this time. Quite surprising, he told her, as if they were old friends and he weren’t about to interrogate her.

She was amused by it, if anything. The phoenix birds have an extremely close emotional connection to their chosen owners. If the bird burst into flames with no warning, Albus Dumbledore must be in turmoil.

She looked him over, and was grudgingly impressed of how well he hid it. She allowed herself a smirk.

He turned his gaze back to her.

Miss Parkinson, I’m aware this is simply the second time we have a chat in private. Outrageous, if I can say so myself. You are incredibly gifted. However, as you have found it essential to share with me the information about the possible holes in our defense system the previous time, I was hoping you would come back if ever any talk of Horcruxes reached you.

He went back behind his desk, and moved some papers around, as if this was a casual conversation. As if he wasn’t burning on the inside like his bird.

He looked up.

That is, if it hasn’t reached you already.

I am not your spy, she thought back at him. She matched his gaze and thought it as loudly as possible. He wouldn’t break through her defenses anyway, but it was amusing to watch him try. There was something in the way he looked at her though -

She straightened. She was not expecting this of him. He did not underestimate her; no, he knew she knew. He might have had no clue of what Draco is preparing, but somehow he knew she knew.

I am not your spy, she whispered low enough for the portraits not to hear her, and she stood up like her mother had taught her. She bowed. She made to leave, and the doors opened for her. Albus Dumbledore was holding his spectacles and smiling at her. As she exited the staircase that connects his office to the castle she could hear a faint whisper follow her out.

It is tomorrow, isn’t it?

She turned back in shock, but all that there was were the gargoyles.

* * *

It is today.

Pansy -

It is a whisper, it is a promise, it is a cry for help, it is her curse. Draco.

Pansy, I -

Miss Parkinson, I admire your preparedness, however I do require my wand at this moment, Severus Snape snarls at her. She apologizes as she gives it back; after all, professor, she had no way of knowing it wasn’t an Order member who was about to turn the corner.

Pansy, they are taking me -

Snape ignores her once he gets back his stolen possession, grabs Draco’s arm and starts pulling him further down the corridor.

We have no time for your romantic rendezvous, Mr Malfoy, he snarls as he manages to manhandle Draco. He never had an eye for details, real pity in a spy.

She looks after them, and Draco is like a ragged doll, shooting spells only when absolutely necessary. Bellatrix Lestrange, his aunt, cackles and throws Death Curses at everyone. She’s having the time of her life.

Pansy aches to go after him, to mend his wounds, and she curses herself for it. She never gets anything back, and this is not the moment. There are children to bloody protect. She narrowly manages to shoot a spell to uphold the ceiling while some terrified children escape from the nearby Broom closet. She looks back down the corridor, and the crowd that just passed her is at its dim end.

She has better things to do.

She goes outside, to the feet of the Anatomy Tower, notice-me-nots all around her. Potter is basically laying on the old man. She says the spell but it gains no response. She tries again. Again. Accio the Hallows wand, she says. It doesn’t come. She sends a searching spell for magical items and a shiver goes through her. It’s not here. It doesn’t react to the spell.

Dumbledore owned the wand, Snape killed him. She disarmed Snape. The wand should be hers. If it doesn’t come, it means it belongs to someone else.

Draco’s terrified expression comes back to her mind. He grabbed her arms. Pansy, I -

Pansy, I _what_??

She needs to get to him before He gets to him. Before He uses Leglimency on Draco.

She looks around, but everyone is fully engaged in the tragedy in front of them. She has no tears for this puppet master. She takes a deep breath, imagines Draco Malfoy’s face, his warm arms, and apparates.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson!

Minerva McGonnagal’s shrill voice fills the silence that surrounded them all after the Last Battle. The remaining, stupidest Death Eaters are taken down by the Aurors who remembered how to move.

That is a surprise, my, but what a welcome one! She shrills again.

My child, we are so glad, the Weasley woman says, and Pansy’s had enough. She is done. She is not here to be praised.

She flinches back when the woman tries to hug her, and she can feel Lucius Malfoy’s smile, as if this boded well for him. Why do they keep expecting her to choose one of them over the other? None of them have helped her.

Pansy, my child, she hears again, but this time the voice is low and calm. What a truly wonderful feat, Narcissa Malfoy tells her, as if Pansy had baked a cake that exceeded her expectations.

Narcissa’s right hand rests on the back of her son’s neck, and the other one grabs her husband’s arm as soon as she gets close enough. She makes clear they come together or not at all.

Pansy has always admired Narcissa.

Thank you, Pansy answers truthfully, and no one else but them will ever know what it is she meant.

Neville, thank Merlin, does not grab her hand more forcefully or squeezes it to remind her of them, but just waits until she’s finished. She turns back, and is met with Granger’s head of hair. Granger, in contrast to everyone else, wears an expression of hate. Pansy is surprised just for a second, but then warmth fills her. Granger will never like her. She will never like Granger. Granger has no delusions or expectations of Pansy joining the Light.

My child, the vice-headmistress says, copying everyone else. There is an extremely powerful magical artifact in your hand at the moment. If we could just -

She extends her hand as she’s speaking.

I am aware, are Pansy’s first words. I will hold onto it.

McGonnagal’s face instantly darkens.

I do not think you are aware of the limits of power of -

The Elder Wand? Pansy teases. Yes, I know. But you see, Minerva, I am about the only person I trust with it.

Other members of the Order of Phoenix join in to convince her, but Pansy gains a newfound respect for Harry Potter and his two sidekicks. They never speak. They seem to agree.

And it’s not like she will be convinced. Neville does squeeze he hand, finally, and when she turns to look at him he nods his agreement. She squeezes back and lets go of him, and grabs Daphne Greengrass’s arm, and disapparates.

* * *

It is coming, Firenzo whispers in the forest. 

It is coming, Nicolas Flamel struggles to say as he wakes up after one of his visions.

It is coming.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolas Flamel and Albus drink together and talk of visions and war. Harry reclaimed his Cloak, and Pansy is looking for her mother.

The year is 1924.

Albus Dumbledore has decided on getting drunk. He has Apparated himself to Paris for that very purpose, and is very much in the mood for anything that prompts Nicolas Flamel to give him more of that wonderful alcoholic liquid he has just invented. It tastes suspiciously like sweet wine, but burns the throat much like a good Firewhiskey. Albus finds it perfect for his purpose.

That is how he finds himself standing on the brink of the Seine.

Look _in_ , my dear Albus, Nicolas urges. Look _in_.

I _am_ looking, but I fail to see more than water flowing.

Oh, the Seine, the Seine, Albus, it’s in my bloodstream. It’s what propels my life forward. As long as it flows, I can be alive.

Albus smiles at that, says nothing, and drinks up his glass of the marvelous liquid. He is so brilliantly drunk, brilliantly standing in fresh air, brilliantly away from England and everyone who troubles him.

To the Seine!, he yells, and his glass fills again in gratitude. Nicolas looks over the water with a tenderness.

Ever since I used it to create the stone, it is a part of me. This river flows through my veins. Eventually, at some point, I will have to allow it to reclaim me.

Nicolas looks over at Albus, with the same tenderness he had for the river.

If you ever miss me, come to Paris and look at the Seine. There I always will be.

That, now, that might be something to worry about, Albus thinks, and starts to say something, but finds himself at a loss as to say what exactly.

Do not worry, Nicolas’s eyes twinkle at him. I will be here almost until your final time. I can see you, now, as you’re falling of - oh. But I shouldn’t say.

Nicolas covers his mouth as if he had shared a piece of gossip he was meant to keep for himself. As if he uncovered a family cooking recipe. As if he had said something secret, but altogether inconsequential.

Albus is sober again.

Nicolas -

But Nicolas is walking back, already halfway towards the stairs up to the street, turned away from the water so quickly that it makes Albus wonder whether the entire moment has been rehearsed and planned and the secret not so accidentally spilled.

* * *

The year is 1998 and Pansy is looking for her mother. Pansy is always looking for her mother. As a child she used to follow her mother around, because there wasn’t much else for a little girl to do at the house unless you liked coloring the jumping lagoon. Pansy always got annoyed at the drawn mermaids who would steal away the flower she was going to paint or flip the watercolors back in her face. Her mother seemed to think that sea-related books were Pansy’s favourites, and in a way they were, but only because they were the least horrible. She would take painting a giggling mermaid who’d let her change her hair over a monkey and some garden gnomes any day of the week.

And so Pansy followed her mother around and mimicked her behaviour. Mrs Parkinson was a cold woman, who grew up during the war and then got married to an ideologist devoted to a cause she never believed in. She knew about survival and etiquette. She tried to, but never manage to radiate much warmth, and so Pansy grew with perfect etiquette and a short temper. Her mother’s answer to her own lack of warmth was to chastise Pansy’s choices as least as possible, and to let her express herself however she wished; as long as she remembered how to address herself properly to the Minister, she could yell at his assistant all night.

When others picked on Pansy’s looks, her mother shared the best rebukes with her. When they rejected her friendship, her mother taught her how to make exploding spell packets. Pansy learnt a lot with her little head on her mother’s lap, a lot of things which may have been inappropriate for a child but which were instrumental to her survival as a Slytherin and a revolutionary.

Now, after Voldemort was dead, just like after shutting down every other bully, she went back to her mother. This time the way to break them down wasn’t her mother’s idea. This time it was not Pansy that needed to be kept safe, but her that kept them both safe. Pansy needed to look at her mother and see with her own eyes that the Dark Lord has not killed her.

* * *

The year is 1925 and people have started asking Albus to kill his best friend, so he goes where he always goes whenever he needs to escape the world. He goes to Paris.

Nicolas has invented a new drink. This one is clear, like water, and tastes like fruit. It makes one’s head sort of buzz but at a small rate, making it near impossible to get drunk. It is not exactly what Albus wants, but given that he has further meetings set up for tomorrow at the Ministry, it is probably what he needs.

There is something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to say, so something absolutely unrelated stumbles out of his mouth instead, and as it goes with such things, this one reveals more of himself than he’d like, even to a life-long friend.

The problem with getting drunk with Nicolas Flamel is that the man can never get drunk himself, being technically neither alive nor dead. The blessing of getting drunk with Nicolas Flamel is that, being not fully of this world and very particular in the company he keeps, he is fully non-judgemental when it comes to those he considers his friends.

Anyway, what Albus says is -

I want to, sometimes, Nicolas, I want to forget that things can be good or bad and just do. But I cannot. I cannot do anything that will hurt innocents. But then there are some things I want. It’s dark, sometimes, and I want some things. And I know they are all, without exception, hurtful to others. But I want.

And what Nicolas says is -

Not for long.

And what Albus replies is -

Not for long?

And what Nicolas says is -

Oh, hello.

Hello?

Just a moment, Albus, it’s just a little visiting.

Albus looks around the room, back at Nicolas, back at the wall Flamel is staring at, back at the text on the bottle from which he just poured himself another glass. There is no one in the room. The liquid isn’t strong. Albus is intelligent.

Nicolas turns back to him. It seems like the question Albus was unable to ask will yield an answer anyway. Nicolas starts:

There is a thing they do not tell you about immortality, Albus. They do not tell you it because no one before me has achieved it. The loneliness is predictable. The losing of interest is predictable. The mood swings are predictable. The visions, however, were a complete surprise.

Nicolas looks up at Albus and they have been friends for a long time. He can tell what Flamel wishes him not to ask. He nods, and instead asks about the latest plant he had sent Flamel for his experiments.

* * *

It is 1998 and Harry Potter is sitting on the main staircase outside Hogwarts. He moves the Invisibility Cloak between his fingers, running his hands delicately over the threads.

Someone brought the Cloak back from the forest and left it on the remains of the outer staircase.

Harry doesn’t know who it was.

It couldn’t have been any of the Death Eaters. The Cloak was folded and placed in an open spot, as if meant for him to find. Aside from the gentleness with which it has been treated, it would be impossible for any human to notice it and pick it up from the ground, since he had thrown it away in the dark, had thrown it between the trees, the Cloak that had always been connected to his family. It should have become a part of the forest, and yet here it was between his fingers.

He wondered if any of the ghosts he had called up with the stone became solid enough to bring it back to him.

He wondered if Dumbledore had appeared outside of his mind too.

Harry is sitting on the staircase, running his fingers over the delicate material that hides all of him from foreign eyes, and observing the Order running around him and trying to make sense of everything that has just happened. Voldemort is dead. Neville killed the snake. The Malfoys are writing down the addresses of their safe houses for McGonagall. Pansy Parkinson has disappeared with the Dark Wand and the Aurors are currently arguing with Tonks about their rights to torture her location out of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

It is still the same year, 1925. Albus is on the phone - a Muggle invention - with Nicolas Flamel, mainly because Flamel has something to tell him he is too afraid for anyone from a magical world to even have a chance of finding out about, and secondly because it is way more fun than owls.

Albus, are you listening?, Flamel asks him for the fourth time. He has grown old these past few years. Albus is angry at himself for not having noticed, for not paying enough attention to have noticed, for only coming to see his friend when he was the one who needed companionship. He should be there more for Nicolas, Nicolas whose many friends have recently died. A turn of the century. Last of the humans Flamel had met at the start of the previous one were dying off. Nicolas is too tired to go out and find new friends from the beginning. He has Albus, and, well. He is paranoid. He has Albus and some correspondence with minor alchemists.

Albus?, Nicolas prompts him.

I’m here.

I need you to know. We never speak of this, but you need to know. Gellert is a boy that believes he is working for the good of the magical world. He is a boy that has been blinded to his own deterioration. But with him you know clearly why he does what he does. But there is someone in the future, someone working not from ideology but from hatred towards the world at large. There will be no mercy with him. This war is just your trial run, Flamel says.

Nicolas, perhaps we should discuss this -

No! No, you must stay in England. They will need you in England.

I will come see you. I will come see you next week, Albus promises.

He does. Next week he is met by Flamel at the man’s doors, and Nicolas is smiling too much for it to be genuine.

I am so tired, sometimes, Albus. I close my eyes and I see things. I see you. I see him. I see a boy with dark hair, and a scar. I see your sister.

Nicolas -

I won’t see you again before this war is done. But after it, I will be here, for you. I will be here for most of your life. And then you’ll always have the Seine. Don’t stop me. They will owl you any minute, the owl’s probably in the air now. I won’t see you before him. You’ll meet him. I can’t tell you when exactly, but soon. You are the one cursed, really. You will be burdened with knowledge. Accidentally, by someone so different than me, yet so like me. You will be burdened with such knowledge that it will hover on our shoulders until the day you die. I pity you, Albus. I am sorry for you.

The owl lands then, on Albus’s shoulder, and it is a Howler. A Muggle village burned to the ground, they all know who did it. Albus should stay, but the Howler starts yelling the names of the dead in alphabetical order, and Albus has to go.

When he comes back to his apartment, that night, he opens the cabinet and takes old reliable Firewhiskey and drinks bottle, after bottle, after bottle.

The next morning Nicolas Flamel wakes up and after calming down, says to no one in particular:

It is coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the latest update for all of you who were waiting! Let me know what you think of this Albus :) Also, do you have any problems recognizing where dialogue starts and where it finishes? 
> 
> Next week - the beginning of Pansy and Harry's unlikely alliance!

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this came to me in a dream. I kid you not. But it was way too good not to write down, so here you go, I hope you enjoyed it. I will probably dedicate the first three chapters to exploring the characters in the 90's time period and jump to the 20's in the fourth one. The first three chapters will be non-linear, and from the fourth forth we will have a linear timeline with some flashbacks thrown in.
> 
> Give me your thoughts!


End file.
